Ronald Weasley and the Goblet of Fire
by ElvisVF101
Summary: A companion piece to Book 4. A retelling of the events of Fourth Year through the eyes of Ron Weasley.
1. That's the ticket!

The best Christmas gift Ron Weasley had ever found under the tree was his very own wizarding chess set. He was always jealous, watching the big kids play the game with the talking, moving men that hit each other. And they always seem to want to exclude him. It took several temper tantrums and threats of telling mum in order to get them to teach him, but by the age of seven, he could beat any one of his brothers, and his dad.

That Christmas when he opened up his very own chess set, he was happier than any seven year old in all of Britain. It didn't matter that it was actually his grandfather's old set, or that the black king was missing his crown, and the white bishop was actually a black one charmed to look white, or that the pieces kept confusing him with his Granddad. It was his very own.

But what he currently held in his hands was loads better than that. This made his chess set look like a four foot essay for Snape on the proper brewing of Wolfsbane Potion.

"I take it you're excited son?" asked Arthur Weasley.

Excited was an understatement. Tickets to the Quidditch World Cup were quite possibly the best thing ever. It took Ron a moment to pull his jaw back up and find the words to describe it.

"This... wow Dad! This is fantastic! I can't believe you got them! It's amazing! We'll get to see Viktor Krum, Dad!"

Arthur smiled as his son went on. Evidently, once Ron had found his voice, it was rather hard to get him to stop gushing over the ticket in his hand.

"You should have seen him against Madagascar. He's the most amazing natural flier I've ever seen. Wow... just... wow Dad...thanks!"

"You sure you're not thanking me prematurely? I haven't told you all of the news just yet."

_Oh boy_, thought Ron. _Here it comesere's where it would come_. He knew this was too good to be true. Now would come the conditions. He'd have to degnome the garden six times a day and do the dishes after every meal for the rest of the summer. And he'd have to spend at least three hours a day revising so he'd be ready for the new term. Still though, it'd probably be worth it just to go to the World Cup. That was worth almost anything.

"In addition to the tickets for everyone in the family, we have two extras. So, I thought that you and Ginny might want to each invite a friend. Your mum's even offered to let them stay for the rest of the summer. She evidently doesn't indulge her maternal instincts enough on just the seven of you. She needs more children to smother with affection and cooking," said Arthur mildly, although his eyes were twinkling with mischief behind his glasses.

Ron's voice abruptly left him again, as did control over his jaw. Arthur gave his shell-shocked son a clap on the shoulder. Molly would probably insist on Ron minding his manners and saying thank you, but Arthur knew from the look on Ron's face that he was plenty grateful. The hand did seem to rouse Ron out of his gobsmacked state. He reckoned he should probably say something, like "thank you" maybe. Mum was always on his case about "minding his manners" and such. But such sophisticated thoughts were beyond him at this moment. It took a clap on the shoulder from his dad to rouse him from his gobsmacked state.

"I reckon I should go owl Harry..."

This statement was punctuated by something hitting Ron in the back of the head. He turned just in time to see his sister deftly catch the bouncing Quaffle.

"You always were a bit slow. I already beat you to it," she said with a smirk as she headed up the stairs.

"Sorry son, she did beat you to it. I told her this morning while you were having your daily lie in. She seemed rather excited. I haven't seen her this happy in a long time."

Ron winced as he rubbed the back of his head. Ordinarily, this would have been the perfect chance to take the mickey out of her for her silly crush on his best mate, but his dad was right. Ginny had seemed a lot happier lately. The prospect of Harry staying for the summer and going to the World Cup had made her happier than he'd seen her in a long time. Well, at least since her first year. But no, no thinking about that right now. Right now, all he wanted to think about was Quidditch. Ron himself still hadn't tried out for the Gryffindor House team, but he was going to seriously consider trying out this year. Oliver Wood had just left school the previous term, and the Keeper position would be open. He had only ever played with his brothers, but even that had to be better than nothing. After all, how many other Keepers had played games in their garden with four Gryffindor House players? Maybe if he went to the World Cup he could meet a professional talent scout who could see he had what it took and would be recruited to a professional team, and some day, he could be the youngest Keeper to play for England...well, probably not, but it was fun to think about.

Besides, there would be plenty of chances to play Quidditch this summer. There would be enough for three a side games. Bill and Charlie would be back, and so would Harry... and someone else. Since Harry would already be spending the summer, Ron would be able to invite anyone else he liked. He thought about his dorm mates, but he knew most of them would probably be going on their own anyway. Besides, he didn't really care too much about hanging out with them over the summer. He didn't really hang out with them all that much during the school year. At Hogwarts, he always hung out with Harry...and Hermione. Hermione! Hermione?

Things were better between them. The fights over the Firebolt and Scabbers were both long since forgotten. But Ron still felt guilty for being a little hard on her last year (okay, maybe a lot). He felt like he owed her. He wasn't sure why, he'd blown up at loads of people over the years, the twins in particular, but he had never felt bad about it. But when Hermione had grabbed him and cried on his shoulder, he had felt ridiculously guilty. He felt bad about yelling at her and calling her names, but not quite bad enough to explain how he had felt when she was crying on his shoulder. He knew he had never quite done enough research to help Buckbeak, and he had been stuck in the Hospital Wing when she and Harry had rescued Sirius and had gone after all those dementors. He felt useless, as if he had let them down, let her down. She...they shouldn't have had to do all that; he should have been the one to help Harry. _E__specially after how awful I was to her. _

Maybe he could give her the ticket. It would be a nice thing to do. Although, it was Quidditch, and Hermione didn't care much for "silly boys and their silly games," probably because she was a girl.LE1 RN2 Girls could be weird about this kind of stuff, and Ron could never understand it. Still, she might like to see all the wizards and witches who would be coming from all over the world to see the finals. After all, she liked to go on and on about culture and history and all that rubbish whenever he asked her for help in Muggle Studies and History of Magic. It was amazing how long she could go on when all he asked was "what does this mean are we supposed to write for our essay?" _Mental, that one_.LE3 RN4

Ultimately, Ron decided that it would be a good idea to give Hermione the ticket. It would PROBABLY be a nice thing to do, and hopefully she wouldn't think he was just dragging her along. Maybe it would make her happy. If she was happy, she would probably be less likely to cry on his shoulder again.

"Thanks again Dad. I've got an owl to write."


	2. Frayed Ends

**Chapter 2 - Frayed Ends**

_"Wish I hadn't bought this now," said Ron, gesturing at his dancing shamrock hat and gazing longingly at the Omnioculars._

Of course it had to be this way. Ron had saved his pocket money all summer so that he could get something nice at the World Cup. He hadn't had a chocolate frog in nearly six weeks. Still, all his meagre savings could buy him were a dancing hat, a silly action figure and a singing rosette. All around, there were fashionable young wizards and witches carelessly throwing away galleons on foreign food and fancy new accessories that the vendors were hawking. He felt very self-conscious in his patched jeans and hand-me-down jumper that was a size too small, having once belonged to Percy. A pair of pretty blonde girls had given him a look of disgust when he smiled at them a little while back. _Why shouldn't they?_ he thought. After all, the Quidditch World Cup wasn't just a sporting event; it was a social one as well. The best of wizarding society always turned out for it. Sure, the masses might listen in over the wireless, but only the elite would get in to a match. He and his family and friends were only here because his Dad had been a little lucky. He was a fool to believe that he could ever belong here.

He thought back to the day when he had hoped that he might impress someone here, and play for England someday. What a joke. Things like that didn't happen to him. They happen to other people...like Harry.

_"Three pairs," said Harry firmly to the wizard._

Oh no. No. Ron may have been pretty down on himself, but the last thing he wanted was pity, especially from Harry. How could he have made Harry feel sorry for him? It was supposed to be the other way around. Ron should feel sorry for Harry having to live with those horrid Muggles and never getting to know his parents. Of all the people in the world who could have pitied him, why Harry? It made Ron feel terrible. Only Hermione feeling pity for him could have made it worse.

Hermione? Why would that make it worse? It's not like he was trying to impress her or anything. How could he, with his hand-me-down jumper and patched jeans? She had spent that past few weeks at the Burrow, so she couldn't be under any illusions about Ron being some fanciable bloke…not that Ron thought Hermione should think that he was fanciable or anything. _No way, that'd be weird!_

_"You won't be getting anything for Christmas," Harry told him, thrusting Omnioculars into his and Hermione's hands. "For about ten years, mind." _

He did want them. He really did want them. He would be much more able to enjoy the match. It was a once in a lifetime opportunity. Who knew when he'd be able to go to the World Cup again? If he was here, why not enjoy the match properly? Besides, he'd be able to pay Harry back...someday...somehow. Who knew, things were always possible. Strange and good stuff seemed to happen to him when Harry was around. Their past three years at Hogwarts were...eventful. Things always looked bad, but they came out of it. So sure, why not take a ten-galleon gift from Harry. He'd worry about squaring things with Harry later.

_"Fair enough."_

Why in Merlin's name would anyone ever need to wear dress robes?

_"Your father's got some for smart parties!"_

Like Ron would ever be caught dead at a "smart party." He had seen the way people had looked at him at the World Cup. Ron knew he didn't belong at a "smart party". ESPECIALLY not wearing something like the hideous, lacy rag in front of him. Not when everyone else would be wearing something fashionable like Harry's new robes. Of course, everyone there would probably have money to afford the newest fashions. They wouldn't have to deal with patched jeans, hand-me-down jumpers and second hand, lace frilled dress robes.

No, people like Harry would go to parties like that. Famous, rich people who were good at everything they did and had talents other than playing wizarding chess. Ron could picture it now: Harry regaling all the toffs with tales of how he defeated You-Know-Who as a baby and then became the youngest Gryffindor House Seeker in a century at Hogwarts, then went on to lead England to it's first World Cup in two generations, and became Minister of Magic, all before he was twenty. He'd go to that party with one of those Bulgarian Veela from the World Cup. Everyone would laugh at his stories, and he and Hermione would tell everyone about all the good times they had at Hogwarts.

Hermione? Well of course she'd be there. The Boy Who Lived and The Brightest Witch of Her Age…they went together like peas in a pod. How could they not? These hideous robes only made it even more obvious how out of his league Ron was with friends like that.

And, of course, Harry had to see these blasted robes. He'd already seen the ramshackle dump that Ron lived in, and all the corner cutting and skimping his family had to do to make ends meet. So why not make the humiliation complete and see the rubbish that Ron would have to wear to some "smart party" where he wouldn't belong. It fit right in with the crooked house, the patched jeans, hand-me-down jumper, and that stupid feathery git of a bird he now owned, because his old rat happened to be a cowardly, villainous murderer of a wizard in disguise. It all fit, it was perfect, just perfect.

_"Why is everything I own rubbish?" said Ron furiously, striding across the room to unstick Pigwidgeon's beak._

_"Weasley, you weren't thinking of wearing these, were you? I mean - they were very fashionable in about eighteen ninety..."_

No, it wasn't perfect before, but it was now. Of all the people to discover the rubbish he was going to have to wear, it had to have been Malfoy and his goons who had come in and pulled them out for all his dorm mates to see. And why did he have to pull them out in front of Hermione? Maybe he would get lucky. Maybe a troll would come and knock the train off the tracks, or a flock of Dementors would come and kiss everyone on the train. Then things would be better.

He wouldn't have to deal with the ridicule of his dorm mates, or the surprised look on Hermione's face when she saw those blasted robes. Now she too would know the truth. She had seen the Burrow and the way his family lived. There was no way things could get worse.

_"Don't tell me you don't **know**__. You've got a father and brother at the Ministry and you don't even **know**__? My God, **my**__ father told me about it ages ago...heard it from Cornelius Fudge. But then, Father's always associated with the top people at the Ministry...Maybe your father's too junior to know about it, Weasley...yes...they probably don't talk about important stuff in front of him..."_

It was a dangerous moment. Ron was about half a second from leaping across the compartment and throwing Malfoy out the window. But he missed his chance; he stayed seated too long taking in what Malfoy said.

That little ponce always did love to show off his station, and he could do it to. The differences between Weasleys and Malfoys were pretty obvious. The robes and their father's positions only made it stand out more. Malfoy had called him out in front of everyone, and he couldn't do anything about it.

_"Don't let Malfoy get to you, Ron -"_

Terrific. Hermione had seen everything. Heard everything. Even she thought slamming the door and breaking the glass was stupid. She knew that the stupid ponce was right. And now, she was feeling sorry for him too. His only hope now was a troll, or some Dementors, or maybe a Whomping Willow spontaneously springing up in the middle of the tracks.

_"Him! Get to me? As if!"_


	3. The Dark Mark

**Chapter 3 - The Dark Mark  
**  
_"Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed." said Mr. Weasley. "The terror it inspired...you have no idea, you're too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you're about to find inside..." Mr. Weasley winced. "Everyone's worst fear...the very worst..."_

His father's words were still heavy on his mind when he saw his mother nearly squeeze the life out of the twins in a giant bear hug. The Dark Mark. It was the sign of a murder. It's what those lunatic Death Eaters probably had meant to do to those Muggles, after they had hung them in the air; they had planned to kill them.

Ron knew a little bit about those pure-blood fanatics, the ones that had lobbied to ban Muggle-borns from Hogwarts, or who his dad sometimes had had to search for after they had played pranks in Muggle London. But the Death Eaters…this was something new. This was evil. He had reckoned that You-Know-Who had to have been a loony to have gone after Harry when he was only a baby; but that his Death Eaters would do something like this… that was something he had never considered. He had heard rumours of what had happened during the first war, but now that he had seen the Mark, everything seemed much more real.

Now that he had seen the Mark, Ron thought back…

Nine-year-old Ron Weasley had been looking for hidden Christmas presents he knew his mum had brought back from Diagon Alley. He had looked everywhere: the shed, the kitchen cabinets, and under all the beds. There had only been one place left: his mum's old wardrobe, the one she had always kept locked under a powerful charm and told everyone to stay out of. He had known that he probably wouldn't be able to get in, but there had been only a fortnight until Christmas, and little Ron had been determined to know what would be under the tree that year.

His mum had been downstairs in the kitchen, cleaning up after lunch, so Ron had known that he would only have a few minutes to check. He had opened and closed the door of the toilet, so she would think he had gone to wash his hands. Instead, he had quickly headed for his parents' bedroom.

The old wardrobe was in the back corner of the room. It was intricately carved, but Ron was much more concerned with Christmas presents, and didn't much care for the patterns of lions, flying horses, trees and rings carved on the doors. Instead, he had eagerly turned the handle, in hopes that his mum had forgotten the locking charm. He had been in luck! The door had opened, and the wardrobe had magically expanded to reveal several chambers in which things could be stored. However, Ron couldn't get into any of them. It appeared that several more spells held the inner chambers closed.

But there was one cupboard in the middle that had caught Ron's attention. A silver glow emanated from the edges of the door. The cupboard would probably be locked like all the others, but Ron decided to press his luck again. The door opened to reveal a stone basin. It was very old. There were carvings along the rim and the once very detailed signs had faded over time. But Ron wasn't concerned with any fancy carvings. The swirling, silvery contents of the basin told him that this was no ordinary bowl. It was his mum's Pensieve. He knew because his dad had shown Ron a memory in a Pensieve once before. It had been a memory from his dad's childhood, when he had learned to ride a broom. As he had watched as his dad, then an unsure little kid, slowly learn to fly, Ron felt a little better about his initial fear at using a broom. He had wanted to see more memories, but dad had said no. Pensieves were very private. People sometimes put things in Pensieves that they didn't want anyone else to see, and it wasn't good to go snooping around in one.

Still, at nine, Ron had been very determined to know what he was getting for Christmas, and his mum wouldn't tell him. She had said that morning that she had forgotten what she had purchased for him. At first, Ron had thought she had said this just to throw him off, but maybe she had put the memory in the Pensieve. He had known that he shouldn't, but Christmas gifts were a very serious matter. Ron had thought that he'd take the risk. Tentatively, he had reached out a finger to the silvery wisps swirling in the bowl. All of a sudden, the room lurched, and he had felt like he was falling…

… until he felt his feet hit the ground. Instantly, his nose was struck with the smell of something burning, and his eyes stung from smoke. He coughed and rubbed his eyes until he could make sense of where he was. He was standing on the front steps of a small house that was on fire. Quickly, he stumbled down the steps, away from the flames and smoke. He As he collapsed onto the front lawn and breathed in some fresher air when, he heard the crack of someone Apparating. He turned to see who it was, and was shocked to see his own mum...or so he thought. She looked younger, and she was pregnant.

"Mum!" yelled Ron, as he ran to meet her. "Mum, I'm sorry, I was...I was...I didn't find anything!"

But Molly Mum didn't notice him. As she looked up at the sky, a look of pure horror crossed her face, and she let out a gut wrenching scream. She ran straight to the house, and straight through Ron. He was a little taken aback. Suddenly, he heard another _pop_, and turned to find his dad.

"Molly, wait!" he shouted as he caught up with her.

"Fabian, Gideon, they're still in there!" Molly was nearly hysterical as she fought her husband's hold and tried to run into the burning house.

"Molly, look at me."

"I have to go in there, I have to help them! They need me!"

"Molly, look at me."

"Arthur, we have to help..."

"We can't."

"You don't know that!"

"Molly, you saw the Mark, the same as I did."

"They could have fought them, they might have been able to get out before..." Molly she pleaded.

"Molly, you know what this means." Arthur said with a very pained look on his face.

"No…" Her voice was very small and trembling now.

"We need to contact Dumbledore," Arthur told her has he held her tightly.

"It's his fault! They were working for him! He did this to them!"

"You don't mean that." Arthur said, trying to be reassuring, even though it didn't sound like he completely meant it either.

Then, Ron had felt a tug on the back of his shirt and had felt everything lurch again. When he had reoriented, he had found himself face to face with very angry looking mum.

"I...I...I didn't find them!"

His mum had prodded the silvery contents of the Pensieve with her wand until it had begun to swirl faster and faster. A ghostly image of a burning house appeared. Her eyes had widened, and she had turned immediately on her youngest son.

"What did you see?" she had asked apprehensively.

"I...what?"

"Did you see anything?" There had been a hint of desperation in her voice.

"I was just...I didn't mean to..."

She had grabbed him by the shoulders and brought him close. Her eyes filled with tears and her whole body shook. "Ronald, you must tell me now, did you see anything?"

"I...no...I didn't see anything," he had lied. He had never seen his mum so scared before, and he had reckoned it would be a bad idea to tell her about what he had seen. She had seemed relieved as she had wiped her eyes, and unconsciously smoothed Ron's shirt.

"Ronnie, you must promise me now, you'll never go looking in my Pensieve again. Do you understand me?"

The way his mum had looked at him that day, the way she had seemed so fragile, so broken and so desperate had made Ron feel awful. He had never felt that way before, and hadn't again until Hermione had cried on his shoulder during their third year.

He had felt as if he had let Hermione down then, just as he had let his mum down back when he was nine. And his mum had always done so much for him: mended his clothes, made him his meals, and even though she and his dad were overworked and underpaid, he and all his brothers and Ginny always had something under the tree for Christmas.

Thinking back again, he remembered Christmas morning from when he was eight years old, when he had opened up a deck of Exploding Snap cards and a pair of Quidditch Keeper gloves. He had felt like the luckiest bloke in the world. His mum and dad though, had seemed even happier somehow, as if they had enjoyed surprising him.

As he had grown older and had started at Hogwarts, Ron had learned more about the first war, and why people had been so afraid, and how brave people had been killed for standing up to You-Know-Who.

Tonight, everything made sense. Why Mum wouldn't talk about her brothers, why the Mark was so frightening, and why she didn't want Ron to see what was in her Pensieve. Ron now wished he hadn't. His nightmares were now full of Dark Marks over the bodies of his friends and his family.

Tonight, Ron finally knew what it meant to be afraid.


	4. The Fifth Champion

**Chapter 4 - The Fifth Champion  
**  
The party had been in full swing for about half an hour. Of course everyone wanted to celebrate. Harry Potter was a TriWizard Champion. Who wouldn't want to celebrate? Whenever The Boy Who Lived For The Spotlight pulled his next stunt, naturally all of Gryffindor would want to party. All the blokes would pat him on the back and give him high fives while all the birds would bat their eyelashes and try and get on his arm. That's the way things were supposed to be.

Things might be different if Ron were more like Bill or Charlie. But he wasn't, and he wasn't like any of the rest of his brothers. He wasn't the handsome one, or the funny one, or the smart one, or the adventurous one. He was the other one.

Someone like that couldn't be standing next to Harry and Hermione as they told everyone how they had come up with the plan for Harry to break the age line: "_Hermione found a charm to get him across."_ And Harry would then tell everyone that after he broke the line, he had had to get past a banshee, and had fought a duel with an enchanted suit of armour before he could put his name in the Goblet. Naturally, Fleur would have seen everything. Harry's bravery would have made her swoon, and she'd be on his arm when he returned triumphantly to the victory party in Gryffindor tower. The big show-off probably just used his Invisibility Cloak, but he'd tell the stories to get the glory anyway.

So naturally, Ron did the only thing he could. He went upstairs to mope in solitude. A victory party for The Great Harry Potter was not the place for him. He didn't belong, any more than he belonged at the World Cup or at a "smart party" wearing his rubbish, second-hand lace-frilled robes. He wasn't Head Boy, he wasn't Quidditch Captain, he wasn't special. He couldn't stand being down there while people gushed about Harry. People would come up to him and ask him what it was like to be friends with The Great Harry Potter.

Like he could tell them. If Harry _really_ was his friend, he would have told him how he had got past the age line. Then, at least Ron would have had a chance. But why would Harry do that? He'd seen Ron for what he really was. He'd seen his house, his clothes, the way he lived, the way people treated him. Why would Harry ever believe that Ron should enter his name to be Hogwarts Champion? Heck, why would Harry ever believe that Ron should be his friend? After all, it's not like he could do anything for Harry. He even had had to take a ten Galleon gift from him to enjoy the World Cup.

No, it was too much. Ron had taken enough embarrassment in front of everyone. He didn't want to be there when Harry got back. He couldn't be seen next to him, or else everyone would see just how pathetic he really was. They would see that he was only friends with Harry because he was popular, and it was the only way Ron could ever get ahead. If he had talent like his brothers, maybe things would be different. But he certainly wasn't going to make any friends for his fame, his fashion or his talent. He would have to rely on his famous friend, The Great Harry Potter, to get anywhere in life. He couldn't stand for anyone to see that. He especially couldn't let Hermione see that.

Hermione? Well, he had pretty much bungled any chance of appearing respectable to her. He'd done his best to make up for being a git last year when he'd taken her to the World Cup and had let her stay for the summer, but it couldn't be enough. Not after everything she'd seen: the old clothes, the old, creaky house, those robes, Malfoy putting him in his place. He couldn't add tonight. He couldn't let her see how pathetic he was next to Harry. No, it really was best he was up here, alone.

How could he have ever dreamt that he belonged at the party? To think that he'd thought he might even try out for Quidditch this year. A fine sight he would have made on the pitch, on his hand-me-down broom, with a hand-me-down kit. If only talent was hand-me-down. Sure, Charlie and the twins were great Quidditch players, but clearly Quidditch talent wasn't hereditary. This is why there was no Quidditch this year. Obviously, since Wood had graduated, and Ron Weasley was the only prospect for Gryffindor, the Inter House Cup simple had to be cancelled. Ron Weasley could not be allowed anywhere near the pitch. Not if Gryffindor was to carry on its recent string of glory. No, all the glory that Harry and Hermione brought to Gryffindor the past three years could not be undone by the likes of Ron Weasley. So, naturally, the TriWizard Tournament had to be held this year so that Harry could get more glory. And, of course, Hermione would be there, helping. Yes, it was best that Ron stay away. He'd only mess it up. It was all he was good for.

_"Where've you been?" Harry said._

"Oh, hello," said Ron. 

It's nearly impossible to stay mad at your best friend. Not if he's _really_ your best friend anyway. No, there are some bonds that go deeper than petty jealousy, irrational anger, and just plain thick headedness. Ron Weasley was slow to learn things like that though. After all, it took a fourteen-foot cave troll to make him realize that he had been a complete arse to someone who would become one of his best mates. It only made sense that it would take a forty-foot Hungarian Horntail to make him realize that he had been a complete arse to his other best mate.

It was silly to be jealous of Harry. After all, he didn't ask for all the things that had happened to him. He hadn't asked to be born into a world at war. He hadn't asked to have heroes and martyrs for parents. He hadn't asked for a scar that linked him to the darkest wizard in nearly half a century. And, much as the limelight might be nice, Ron had to figure that Harry wouldn't ask to be chased by a Hungarian Horntail. It was all well and good for the other champions. Undying glory and a thousand Galleons were a pretty good deal. But Harry didn't need the money or the attention. He had money from his parents, and attention on account of the bloodthirsty nutter intent on conquering the world who had tried to kill him as a baby. Why complicate matters with a dragon?

Ron asked himself what would he have done if the dragon had gotten Harry todaysomething had gone wrong today? Sure, Harry was probably okay. He had flown brilliantly, even better than Krum could have done. But still, it _was_ a Hungarian Horntail. Charlie had always come back home to recover for about a week when his shift with the Horntails was done. Ron had never known Charlie to be weak or afraid, but even his brother had admitted that it took some guts to handle Horntails. The only time he had ever seen Charlie in pain was when George had cuffed him on the shoulder where he was sporting a fresh burn from an angry Horntail Bull. The only reason Harry was okay was because he was brilliant. Ron certainly couldn't begrudge him the skills he needed to stay alive. Besides, if something happened, and he and Harry hadn't worked it out...well, best not to think about things like that, at least not on an empty stomach.

All this time, Harry had known about the dragons, and Ron hadn't been there for him. He had seen all the difficult spell work that Cedric, Victor and Fleur had used, and they hadn't done half as well as Harry. The only reason Harry had done so well was because he knew a Summoning Charm. Good thing Hermione was there for himHarry.

Hermione? Oh, all the nasty things he had thought about her recently. She couldn't help it if she was brilliant. It was scary for sure, but it was a good thing, too. Harry'd have been cooked if it wasn't for her. She had been there for himHarry, again. And Ron had failed them both, again. Ron kept saying to himself that he'd make up for last year. But Harry and Hermione were on their own, yet again. She had repeatedly tried to get him to make up with Harry, and he had been too thick to listen. He had just moped about how much better Harry was than him. And it was true. Harry was a pretty special bloke, but even The Great Harry Potter needed friends. The Tournament had shown that.

The rest of the school was following that slimy git Malfoy's lead and making Harry's life miserable again. Well, Ron Weasley might be a thickheaded dolt, obsessed with Quidditch and disgracefully poor, but he knew a bully when he saw one. And right about now, the school was filled with hundreds of bullies who were squarely focused on his best mate (truth be told, he had been one of them for a long while). But that was all going to change. No more picking on Harry. He didn't deserve it. He deserved better. He deserved better than Ron of course, but it was all he had right now, and Ron decided that he was better than nothing.

_"Harry, whoever put your name in that goblet - I - I reckon they're trying to do you in!_


	5. The Yule Brawl

**Chapter 5 - The Yule Brawl**

"Why did I do it? I don't know what made me do it!"

Ron cradled his head in his hands. He may as well have been cradling the shattered remains of his dignity, after he had been very publicly rejected by Fleur Delacour. The only thing that could have made Ron's humiliation more complete was for him to have asked her to the Yule Ball in his Martin the Mad Muggle boxer shorts. Although, she could hardly have looked at him with more scorn if he had, so maybe the boxers wouldn't have made much of a difference. The onlookers were already laughing hard enough. So, in the end, it was probably an act of mercy for everyone involved that he was fully clothed.

Vaguely, he was aware of Harry talking about Fleur being part Veela. Sure, it fit. When he walked past her, it felt like being under the Imperious Curse. His mind went blank and he felt like a million Galleons. The second she had looked at him, the spell had broken and everything had come crashing back. What an awful feeling.

Ron was glad to know he wasn't the only one suffering from a case of impaired judgement on account of the Ball. Neville had asked Hermione. He thought taking the mickey out of Neville might make him feel better, but Ginny had gone and blabbed to Hermione about his fiasco with Fleur. He could still remember the look Fleur had given him, _Like I was a sea slug._ His only remaining solace was that no one elseHe took solace in the fact that Harry had been turned down as well had a date yet either. Granted, they hadn't been enchanted by a Veela and publicly made a total fools of themselveshimself, but why bother with the details?

"Well, I'm sure you'll find someone, somewhere who'll have you."

_Oohh, there she went again, looking all smug and fanciable.  
_  
_What?  
_  
Well, okay, Ron had to admit it. Hermione was not a troll with an off-centre nose. In fact, he rather liked her nose where it was, even when she was looking down it at him. But, obviously, there was a possibility here. Hermione had as good as asked him to ask her to the ball. At least, that's how Ron decided to see it. _Someone, somewhere indeed_. _Of course she didn't want to go with Neville. I mean, sure, Neville's an all right bloke in his own way, but Hermione couldn't possibly want to GO with him, anymore than I wanted to GO with anyone._ It made perfect sense. Ron and Hermione should obviously go to the ball together. They were already friends and spent loads of time together. And she couldn't possibly like all the blokes trying to impress a girl and get them to go to the ball with them. They would be a safe bet for each other. Ron decided that it was time to summon some of his supposed Gryffindor courage and do the sensible thing. All he had to do was play it cool.

"Hermione, Neville's right. You are a girl..."

_That could have come out better...  
_  
"Just because it's taken you three years to notice, Ron, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!"

Okay, so things weren't completely lost yet. Sure, she was angry, but hardly a day went by that Ron didn't do something to annoy her. All it meant was that he had plenty of experience in how to deal with her. And, in this instance, the solution was clear - gracefully admit defeat and move on.

"Okay, okay, we know you're a girl. "That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you!" Hermione said very angrily. "I'm going with someone else!"

_No, couldn't be. No way. Hermione? No. No way. Seriously, who? What in Merlin's name was going on here? Hermione, gets a date before me and The Boy Who Lived? No way._

"She's lying," said Ron flatly, watching her go.

There were probably words to describe what exactly Ron Weasley thought when he saw Hermione Granger on Viktor Krum's arm at the Hogwarts Yule Ball. However, they were well beyond him. He'd probably have to go digging through one of Hermione's precious Ancient Runes texts to find them.

Viktor Krum. International Quidditch Star. Tri-Wizard Champion. Rich, famous, eighteen and smart enough to ask Hermione to the ball before him.

_Wanker.  
_  
But it fit of course. Harry was a champion, so he belonged at the Head Table. And, if she couldn't go with Harry, she had to go with someone else. Viktor Krum would have to do. _Hell, I'd probably have enjoyed myself more if I could hang out with Krum. Not that I'd want to anymore, the slimy git…"_

Hermione, go to the ball with Ron? What had he been thinking? She had seen the tilted house, the shabby clothes, that ruddy owl...he reached to fiddle with a loose thread on his sleeve. _Oh right, that._ Yeah, quite a sight he and Hermione would have made. Her stylish blue outfit would have gone nicely with his lace-frilled, second hand dress robes.

Right. So, this Yule Ball business was supposed to be fun. Whoever thought that should have made sure that Ron had got a different set of robes, and made sure that Ron went to a different Yule Ball, preferably one without living legends and international Quidditch Stars who were being escorted by supposed best friends.

Dancing was not supposed to be fun. Dancing was something boys were made to do against their will by tittering girls who loved flowers and lip gloss and all that rot. Since when was Hermione one of those girls? And why, in Merlin's name, did Viktor Krum look like he was ENJOYING dancing? Didn't the bloke know that dancing was something girls made you do? Ron thought that, obviously, Krum had taken one too many bludgers to the head_  
_  
What was Hermione thinking, leaving him like this? She was always so keen on "helping" when Ron was enjoying some well earned time off from assignments and revising, going on and on about "deadlines" and "due tomorrow." Now, when he was stuck going to a stupid ball and really needed rescuing, she was out dancing with Viktor Sodding Krum. A real friend, that one.

"How's it going?" Harry asked.

Was Harry talking to him? Couldn't he see Ron was busy right now? A man plotting the death of an International Quidditch Star couldn't very well be bothered to make small talk. No, not when there were logistics about burials and weapons disposals to be coordinated.

"It's hot, isn't it?" said Hermione

_Hot, here? No. Now the inside of Krum's cabin aboard the Durmstrang Ship, that would be hot._ After Ron had set the fire to it and trapped that thick-browed, duck-footed tosser inside.

"Viktor's just gone to get some drinks."

So, she'd come to throw it all in his face, had she? Show him just how worthless he was compared to a guy like Krum. Well, Ron Weasley may be a poor, worthless wizard, but he wasn't going to get shown up again. This situation called for the famous Weasley Wit.

He gave her a withering look. "Viktor?" Hasn't he asked you to call him Vicky yet?"

_Bugger...maybe picking a battle of wits with the brightest witch of her age was a bad idea..._

"What's up with you?"

_Clever question_. Good thing he had a good answer prepared. "If you don't know, I'm not going to tell you."

_Why don't these arguments ever go like I want them to? Time for some quick thinking._

"Ron, what - ?"  
_  
_"He's from Durmstrang!" _What? Where did that come from?_ "He's competing against Harry! Against Hogwarts!"

_Okay, good one Weasley, there's hope yet..._"You - you're -" _Come on mate, think of something!_ "Fraternizing with the enemy, that's what you're doing!" _Not bad, I'll just see what the all-knowing Hermione Granger does with that one!  
_  
"Honestly - who was the one who wanted his autograph? Who's got a model of him up in their dormitory?"

_Oh, right then_."He's Karkaroff's student, isn't he? He knows who you hang around with...He's just trying to get closer to Harry - get inside information on him - or get near enough to jinx him -"

Ron knew the moment he said it that it was uncalled for. He had officially questioned Hermione's loyalty to Harry, which Ron knew to be absolute and unwavering, probably more solid that his own. After all, she hadn't turned her back on Harry when his name had come out of the Goblet. Ron had done that, all on his own. And she had been the go-between during those awful weeks when he and Harry weren't speaking. And now, here he was saying that Hermione was undermining Harry. Well, he'd gone and done it now. He could try to navigate his way to some safe ground, but the inevitable had happened yet again. Ron Weasley had lost another argument to Hermione Granger.

"Are you going to ask me to dance at all?"

Was someone still talking to him? Couldn't they see he was in the middle of losing an argument? Honestly, some people had no manners.

As Ron entered the common room, he was just in time to see Hermione pick up a discarded jumper and muffler that had been left on the chair by the fire. With an exasperated look on her face, she tossed them aside before collapsing into the chair.

"Hey, those are mine!"

Hermione looked at Ron with a long suffering look on her face.

"I suppose they are. You know, most people wouldn't leave such a mess. Most people would give others some consideration. But then, I guess you're not most people."

"Hey, don't blame me because that ruddy Ball was awful!"

"Oh, it was awful, was it Ron? It was awful to be able to have a break from studies? It was awful to have a nice boy notice that I'm a girl and treat me to a wonderful evening? It was awful to dance and enjoy good food and stay up late? No, I suppose that was awful."

As she rose from the chair, Ron could sense one of Hermione's famous explosions coming. Unfortunately, ever since she had walked into the Great Hall in her pretty blue robes on the arm of Viktor Krum, Ron had been having some trouble stringing coherent thoughts together. Otherwise, he might have found a way to defuse the ticking time bomb in front of him.

"You're right Ron, I had an awful evening. It had nothing to do with the fact that you weren't making any sense, going on and on about 'fraternizing with the enemy.' It couldn't have had anything to do with the fact that I was accused of betraying my other best friend. No, certainly can't see how that would relate to anything."

"Well...I wasn't the one who..."

"Who what, Ron?" She stamped her foot and placed her hands on her hips. Sadly, Ron knew from experience that this wasn't playful banter anymore. She was full on angry at him. He couldn't really blame her, either.

"I just..."

"What Ron? What?" She had her hands out and was nearly pleading with him.

"I DIDN'T LIKE YOU BEING THERE WITH HIM!" He hadn't meant to yell. But sometimes, Hermione could just set him off. He didn't have any reason to not like Hermione being at the ball with Krum. Rightfully, he should have been happy for her. It's not everyday one's best friend gets escorted to a fancy dress ball by a celebrity. But Ron wasn't happy, and he probably should have kept that to himself. But now that it was out, he couldn't take it back.

"Well if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?"

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

Terrific, Harry had to choose that exact moment to walk in. Absolutely perfect. He had to come up with a response.

"Well, well - that just proves - completely missed the point -"

_Yeah, right._


	6. Something's Amiss

**Chapter 6 - Something's Amiss**

"You want us to do what now?"

It wouldn't be the first time that Ron had to have Professor McGonagall repeat something, nor would it be the last. Ron's mind had a tendency to wander when faced with the complexities of the theory of Transfiguration. Professor McGonagall frequently had to give Ron "the look." Even if Ron hadn't seen "the look" first-hand, he knew plenty about it from Bill, Charlie and the twins…mostly the twins. Making trouble in McGonagall's class could have serious consequences. And the Weasley boys seemed to excel at making trouble. However, Ron's mind was no longer in danger of wandering anytime soon. The matter that Professor McGonagall was discussing was far more interesting than the principles of Transfiguring wood into woollen jumpers.

"As I said, Mr. Weasley - and perhaps you should pay attention this time," to which Hermione huffed, as if such a thing were not possible. "The four of you will be participating in the second task as hostages to be rescued."

Ron quailed slightly under the scrutiny of his Head of House, but in the end, his curiosity got the better of him. "Er...yeah...but...that sounds dangerous!"

None of the others had spoken yet, but Cho, Hermione, and the little blonde-haired girl who, Professor McGonagall had told them, was named Gabrielle Delacour, all seemed to have the same unspoken question, as they were nervously fidgeting in their conjured chairs, each of which was very hard and stiff as if to encourage proper posture. Of course, McGonagall would expect nothing less from her young charges.

Professor McGonagall became slightly less stern. "I understand your concerns Mr. Weasley. But, Professor Dumbledore has assured me that you four will be in no real danger. The enchantment will keep you safe. You will be able to breathe normally, and a charm will be used to keep you asleep. In addition, the merpeople will ensure that you are protected at all times during the task."

"You might also try to enjoy it, Mr. Weasley, Professor Dumbledore interjected with a chuckle. "After all, it's not often your professors ask you to sleep during school hours. Now, once I place you under the enchantment, you will fall asleep and will awaken once the second task is complete. It might be a bit chilly, mind you. February is not the month most students would choose to swim in the lake. However, when one is sixteen, and trying to impress a very choosy witch, one might do something...inadvisable..." he said with something of a wistful gleam in his eyes.

Professor McGonagall cleared her throat.

"Oh, my apologies. The past does come back to me these days. As I was saying, the enchantment will keep you safe until the end of the second task."

"Er...Professor Dumbledore sir?"

The two professors gave Ron a look, McGonagall with a touch of impatience, tinged with a touch of grandmotherly affection, and Dumbledore with open amusement.

"Most definitely a Weasley. So much like his brothers," he said to Professor McGonagall.

Ron was a bit taken aback by this statement. He thought about Bill and Percy and, for a moment, wasn't sure if he should take it as a compliment or not.

"Ummm..."

"That is not a question, Mr. Weasley, although I suspect you still have one, do you not?"

"Well, umm, yes sir. I get that we'll be safe and everything, but why us?"

"That is a far better question, and it has a much more interesting answer. You have been chosen as the objects of rescue for the champions' Second Task because each of you is dear to one of the champions. You are, in essence, what they wouldLE1 RN2 miss the mostsurely miss." Dumbledore seemed to put extra emphasis on the word miss. "Hence, your rescue should give them sufficient motivation for completing their task. After all, they are young, and as professors, we find that young students often need incentives and deadlines to complete their tasks. Would you agree, Mr. Weasley?" said Dumbledore, with another amused glance at Ron.

"Oh, er, yeah." This, of course, was the moment in the conversation where Ron's ears would turn red, as if to confirm Professor Dumbledore's earlier statement about Ron definitely being a Weasley.

"Well, if there are no more questions...which I find hard to believe, Miss Granger," said Dumbledore, turning to Hermione.

"Oh, well, yes." she stuttered, going slightly pink in the face. "I was wondering how you would be enchanting us?"

"Ah, yes, that might be something to be concerned about. Breathing is a very natural worry for most people. However, I'm sure you already have some theories of your own. Why don't you share them with us first? As your professors, we are somewhat curious to see how you apply what we attempt to teach you when you aren't doodling on your parchment." Dumbledore winked at Ron.

Hermione seemed to light up at this invitation. "Oh, well, I have been thinking. I think the _Somnius_ charm would be best for placing us into a deep sleep!"

The corners of Professor McGonagall's mouth turned ever so slightly upward at this.

"But as for breathing underwater, we've been looking everywhere...ohh..." She and Ron exchanged a quick look of panic.

"You have been looking everywhere for a way to help Mr. Potter, much in the same way Miss Chang has been helping Mr. Diggory. This is correct, yes?"

All three Hogwarts students exchanged a rather startled look, but nodded in agreement.

"As we suspected, but no matter. Yes, Miss Granger, the _Somnius_ charm will be used to place you in a deep sleep, as well as to allow you to breathe normally underwater."

"But sir, I thought -"

Dumbledore held up his hand "I have made some modifications. You likely won't find them in any textbooks, but then, not all learning comes from books, Miss Granger."

"Oh yes, sir."

"Very well, if there are no more questions...?"

There was one in the back of Ron's mind, which he was struggling to work out. The thing the champions would miss most? Well, Gabrielle was obviously Fleur's sister, and Cho and Cedric seemed to be awful close since the ball. Krum didn't really know Ron, so he must be for Harry. But then, Harry would miss Hermione, too. That didn't make sense, Harry had two hostages and none for Krum...unless...

_Somnius.  
_


	7. Brothers in Arms

**Chapter 7 - Brothers In Arms**

"You can't catch me!" shrieked five-year-old Ron Weasley.

His big brother Bill could, of course, catch him whenever he wanted, being much bigger and faster, but Ron figured he should take full advantage of the situation, and get a good chase out of Bill. Besides, it seemed like Bill was enjoying himself. He had certainly been eager to do "babysitting" instead of one of the seemingly endless list of chores Mum had for him this morning.

"I'm faster than yooo-ooo, I'm faster than yooo-ooo," mocked Ron in a sing song voice.

"Oh, is that so ickle Ronniekins?" Bill made a fresh dash at his youngest brother. Ron moved quickly, as only a five-year-old could, and made for the kitchen. Bill started off in hot pursuit before he tripped on the edge of a chair.

"Oww!"

"Oh no! Bill!" Ron scampered back to his big brother as fast as his little legs would carry him. "Are you okay?"

"GOTCHA!" Ron quickly realized that Bill had only been faking. He did that a lot, and Ron always seemed to fall for it. It was at times like these that Bill would usually teach Ron "a lesson." But no matter what the lesson was, it always seemed to involve tickling.

"NOOOOOO! Okay, okay, I give up! You win! It tickles, stop Bill, no more!!"

"Oh no you don't, baby brother. You thought you were going to get away, didn't you? Who's the best big brother?"

"No, no!"

"Come on...say it..."

"BILL! RON!"

"Hi mum."

"Hi mum."

"And just what are you two doing?"

"I'm babysitting, mum. We're having loads of fun. Just ask Ron."

"Yeah mum, Bill's the best babysitter ever!"

Ron watched as him mum tried to be stern, but the corners of her mouth twitched upwards ever so slightly. It seemed that even Mum liked having Bill home to babysit. Ron had to admit, it was loads better than being stuck with Fred and George, and little Ginny, who seemed to have become their unofficial mascot. They were inseperable these days. Charlie was _supposed _to be keeping an eye on them today, but knowing him, he'd be helping them hatch up some new mischief. They always picked on him, and Ron always felt helpless to defend himself. Sure, Bill and Charlie picked on him too, but it was different, and they were even able to pick on the twins to keep things fair.Still, it was better with the older brothers around. Ron still got picked on, but Bill was usually able to keep things from getting to far out of hand.

"Well, Bill, Ron, perhaps you two would like to take a break from "babysitting" and come join me in the kitchen for some biscuits."

"Biscuits!" Ron mad a dash for the kitchen. He didn't make it very far, as Bill grabbed him and carried over his shoulder down to the kitchen, deftly ensuring the older brother got the first of the fresh biccies. Ron started to protest, only to have Bill shove a biscuit in his mouth, effectively silencing the younger Weasley.

"Fanks mum, whassaccashun?"

Mum sighed, and muttered something under her breath about countless lectures and table manners of a rampaging hippogriff. But as she looked back up at the boys, her mood seemed to lighten. "Look on the table."

Bill's hand froze, halfway to his mouth with a second biscuit still in hand. "Is that -"

"Congratulations, dear. I'm so proud of you!"

"Mummy, what's that?" asked Ron, pointing to the badge with a lion's head on it.

"That is Bill's new prefect badge, Ron. Your big brother has worked very hard at school."

Ron's eyes went wide with wonder "You mean Hogwarts?"

"Yes, dear. If you work hard, maybe you can be a prefect like Bill."

"I will! I will! I'm going to be just like Bill when I grow up!"

"Well, Bill is going to have to grow up himself before you can be like him."

The boys' attention was now thoroughly occupied between the biscuits and the new badge. Ron wanted to try it on, and Bill seemed to take great delight in pinning it in odd locations on Ron's clothes, eliciting fresh protests from his younger brother, and a few laughs as well.

Ron thought life couldn't get any better. Everyone was home for the summer, there were fresh biscuits, and he was going to be just like Bill when he grew up.

_"Who're you blackmailing?"_

This was serious now. Ron knew the twins had been plotting and scheming for the joke shop for months now. It had been fun listening to all their ideas. Ron was deeply impressed with how thorough they had been. They seemed to really want to do this. They had found a purpose, something he had been searching for himself, but he was nowhere near as far along in planning his life as his brothers were. Bill, Charlie and Percy all had good, stable, respectable jobs, and now the twins had a plan. All Ron had was some half-baked fantasies about glamour jobs: Aurors, professional Quidditch player, Wizarding wireless network star. Nothing serious, not like his brothers. It made him a little jealous and a little afraid.

But blackmail? He knew the twins were serious about the shop. All his brothers were serious in their own way. It was hard work coming up with all the products they had together. He knew they had been saving up, and were still in need of some Galleons to keep their fledgling business alive. He had even sat in on some of their planning sessions that summer to decide how to come up with some extra money to keep their hopes alive.

He had overheard all the...umm...exchanges...they had had with mum. Well, there really wasn't much of an exchange. Mum just kind of shrieked and bellowed at them, and they were smart enough to just try and survive the encounter. Ron had endured his fair share of lectures for just being with them while they were inventing. The last thing he wanted was more trouble. Ron Weasley might not have known what he wanted to be when he grew up, but he knew that blackmail probably qualified as trouble.

_"You're starting to sound a bit like our dear older brother, you are, Ron. Carry on like this and you'll be made a prefect."_

"No, I wont!" said Ron hotly. 

Who would want to be a prefect? Besides, Ron knew it wasn't as if he had what it took to be a prefect anyway. He wasn't Bill.


	8. Better than Nothing

_He's not dead. He's just asleep. He's not dead. He's just asleep. He's not dead. He made it back. Only Cedric got ki...  
_  
Ron Weasley decided that this track of thinking wasn't helping. He should be relieved. His best mate was still alive, even though he had just been through a duel with the most evil Dark Lord in half a century. There had been an elaborate plot to kill him, and he managed to come out the other end alive.

Only Cedric had di...didn't make it.

Maybe he shouldn't be so relieved.

He thought back to the Dark Mark, memories in a Pensieve of a burning house, and his mum and dad watching helplessly. He thought of uncles he never knew.

He thought of meeting an orphan whose parents were murdered in cold blood.

Ron tried not to think about his best mate lying on the ground, huddled over a body. There had been a split second when he hadn't moved. Ron thought he really knew about death. He thought he had stared it in the face, but being advanced upon by an enchanted chess piece, or screaming at a convicted murderer was nothing compared to seeing your best mate on the ground not moving. THAT was death. That was cold and unforgiving. That taught Ron Weasley what it meant to be powerless. That was what war meant. That was what being an adult meant... an Auror, a soldier...

Fourteen-year-olds were prone to delusions of grandeur. Youth meant that what you learned one moment was quickly forgotten the next. Ron would never forget the sight of Harry huddled over Cedric's dead body though, but would the fear he felt now always remain? But, until Harry woke up, Ron would be cured of childish dreams of heroism and glamour.

Six-year-old Ron Weasley was hiding in the tree next to the pond. He had had no choice, really. If he hadn't hid, he'd have been unable to avoid his little sister, who had insisted that Ron play with her. Specifically, she wanted Ron to play catch with her with Bill and Charlie's old Quaffle. Being six-years-old, Ron had known a few simple things about life. Mum's ginger biccies were the very best in the whole world, teddy bears should not turn into spiders, little sisters were annoying, and girls could definitely NOT play Quidditch. Only big brothers played Quidditch, since mum and dad let them up on brooms. If Ron was too small to be up on a broom, there was NO WAY little Ginny could ever get up on a broom.

His plan worked perfectly, until Ginny found him. She ran out into the garden, holding the Quaffle, which was much too big for her.

"Ron, come play!"

"Go away, Gin!"

"No, come play Ron!"

"I'm not playing with you Gin!"

"You are too!"

"Am not!"

Ginny, as though sensing she had sensed Ron wouldn't listen to her arguments, decided on the next best course of action. She would climb the tree and make Ron come down.

"Ginny! Stop, don't come up here! I don't want you here!"

"Be quiet, Ron! We're going to play!"

"No Ginny! Go AWAY!"

Ron's breath caught in his throat, because just as he screamed, Ginny's hand slipped, and she fell to the ground. Ron panicked as Ginny lay there, not moving.

"MUUUUUMMM!"

Ron had waited outside Ginny's room. Mum had Flooed a healer from St. Mungo's to examine Ginny. He had checked her for broken bones outside on the ground. The Healer said she was lucky. She had only hit her head, and broken a few bones. If she had been just a little higher, she might have broken her neck. Bursts of accidental magic sometimes saved young witches and wizards in near death situations, but not always. All in all, they were very fortunate. Things could have been a lot worse. When they had Enervated her, Ginny screamed out in pain, clutching Molly Mum tightly.

Ron had wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. As he sat outside the door, he tried not to dwell on what would have happened if Ginny hadn't been lucky. The thought of her not waking up scared him even more than spiders.

After making sure it was safe to move her, Mum and the Healer had brought her inside to her room. They were still in there. Ron had sat outside, as he'd thought about what had happened: the panicked look in Ginny's eyes as she fell, her body still as a statue on the ground. The Healer's words echoed in his ears: she was lucky, that she could have broken her neck. The scream when she woke up. It was awful. Ron tried to think about anything else, but every time he did, he could hear that scream all over again.

Finally, the door opened.

"She should be just fine Mrs. Weasley. Just make sure she gets plenty of rest and takes her potion regularly. She'll be right as rain in a few days."

"Thank you, Healer."

Molly Mum saw the Healer to the fireplace. Ron expected to be yelled at. Instead, his mother was rather gentle with him, although she did look very angry.

"Ronald, you will stay with your sister until she wakes up. Do you understand?"

"Yes mum."

As Ron walked into the room, he found Ginny sound asleep, nestled beneath her covers, cuddled with her favourite stuffed bear. She looked so peaceful, it seemed hard to believe that just half an hour ago, she had been lying on the ground, and had almost not woken up again. Ron hopped up on the other side of the bed and took Ginny's hand in his.

"I'm sorry Gin. I didn't mean it," he whispered. He took his sleeve and wiped the tears out of his eyes. "I promise, I'll always be there for you. We'll play whenever you want. Promise."

For a moment, Ron thought he saw the corners of Ginny's mouth twitch upward. Content with that image, Ron put an arm around Ginny and curled up next to her. In a few minutes, they were both fast asleep.

_"I told him to take the cup with me," said Harry._

Ron knew he shouldn't look. He didn't want to admit it, but he knew Harry was trying to hold it all together. He could tell just by looking at him that Harry was trying to stay strong and not break. He knew, because Ron himself had felt that way too often this year. But in his case, it was over nothing.

Harry knew what it meant to suffer. Ron might be poor, but he had a home and a family — security. Harry had been a target since before he was born. He hadn't had a real family since he was a baby.

Harry had a reason to cry, to feel pain. Ron decided he wouldn't look away. He was going to remember today. He was going to remember it all: the omnioculars, the Goblet, the Horntail, and this moment here. He had almost lost Harry twice. The first time was because he was jealous and the second time was because a murderous villain wanted him dead. Some friend he had been, but no more. Harry would never again stand alone, not while he had Ron Weasley. It wasn't much, but it was something.

_THE END_


End file.
